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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26558365">to yield thyself to the eye of god</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthlesslistener/pseuds/dickprince'>dickprince (ruthlesslistener)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hollow Knight (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Sex, Consensual Kink, Heavy religious themes and symbolism, LITERALLY, Lurien jacks off and gets in touch with God: the fic, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Meld, Mindfuck, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Pining, Religion and enlightenment offered through divine fuckery, Sex but Holy, Took a leaf out of Bloodborne's book with this one lmao, gay bugs doing gay things with their gay gods, some thoughts of self-loathing from lurien but thats bc of the pining, worship and devotion through sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:14:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,054</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26558365</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthlesslistener/pseuds/dickprince</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lurien is a devoted follower of the Pale King. As Watcher of the City of Tears, his position demands far more from him than most are willing to give. To ensure the safety of his people, to work beside the unfathomable power of the Pale Wyrm, certain sacrifices must be given, and given <i>freely</i>, for the might of a god is a terrible thing, the balance between devoted mortal and loving ruler a delicate line to tread. </p><p>He of course, is willing to give all. For his city, for King Beloved, there is nothing he is not willing to offer. His eyes, his service, his life. </p><p>His heart.</p><p>Oh, but if only.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lurien the Watcher/The Pale King (Hollow Knight)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>123</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>to yield thyself to the eye of god</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i don't know if the old english in the title is correct and i dont care. i am so godsdamned thirsty for some more fuckin' content of this rarepair and if i have to build it all up myself with my bare hands and my improper old english the power of my own gay thoughts then i will do it, godsdamn it, just try to stop me</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As Watcher, Lurien was the eye of the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was loyal. He held a title that was unique to all the other bugs in the Pale Court, as benefited a denizen with a talent as unique as his. A gift, given unknowingly by the King when he blessed his followers to be more than what they once were- a brand of being chosen. The third eye placed in the middle of his forehead would have been an unsightly curse to anyone not of Hallownest, but to Lurien, it was the greatest gift he had been born with. Other bugs took pride in their claws and fangs, flared their wings every chance they could to show off their bright iridescence, but Lurien had chosen to wrap himself in cloth so that people could see nothing of him but his holy garb, had chosen a mask with only one eye so that the gift of Allsight granted to him was the one feature he could be distinguished by. He had been whispered about by the others when he was but a grub, but even to one so young, it felt right- like the mantle draped over his shoulders fit him to who he was supposed to be, not one of the many bugs of the city but the Eye of the Pale God. His deformity had not been a curse, but a blessing, a purpose granted to him that guided him away from the uncertainty and fear of early childhood. In His service he found peace. In His devotion, a sense of belonging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The simmering heat in his stomach refused to settle. Lurien shifted on his perch, adjusted the lay of his cloak, and fit the eye of his mask back to his telescope again, to gaze hazily down at the city below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was blessed, truly, to be so close to him. The King held no high priests, not in the way that other gods demanded- he valued the freedom of his people above all else, and asked for their worship only so he may protect them better. There were no churches built for him, no set places of holy worship, but his form was built everywhere, a reminder of the gift he had granted to his citizens. In places of learning and innovation, libraries and archives, they almost seemed alive- the air electric, not with the crackling electricity of Monomon’s oomas and uomas, but with the colder mist of Soul. His presence, thick in the air, as close as a god-king could be, as close as anyone other than the White Lady and his personal retainers could get. Even the worshipers who had taught him how to pray properly had told him that the most effective way of showing his love for his god was to seek education, to throw himself into his art and create beauty with the gift that he had given him. Even if he would never see it. Even if he would never look, he would be proud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(And wasn’t that part of the appeal to pledging service to him, that he would never…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(That he could never be seen, he would just See, it would just be him following a benevolent distant idol and nothing more, just an opportunity to find a place for himself and a sense of belonging, something meaningful about the flashes of verse and the sights he saw when he thought he should be sleeping, knowledge of the world and its future tumbling into his lap like a wounded mossfly…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(The King did not respond to letters, even from those rich enough to pay for the transportation required to get to the White Palace. Anyone could walk, technically, anyone could climb to the gates, but the levels that the King resided on were closed to all but the most high-ranking and trusted retainers. What letters he branded with his sigil were things like requests for major architectural changes already bickered about in court, messages not necessarily to him directly but merely requests of his approval. When he had sent in a letter speaking of the city and the visions that blessed him, praising him for his innovation, thanking him for his gift, he did not expect- he was not supposed to get a response.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(The King had sent back a letter written in pale, glowing Soul, carried by a messenger whose carapace glowed so bright white it hurt. He remembered the day it had come, the way the others had stared, the way that his breath had stopped and the world had spun in slow motion.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Come to Us, Watcher, Allseer. We wish to speak with you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no unusual activity from the sector of the city he was watching. Strange, given its proximity to the Soul Sanctum, but Lurien could hardly care about that right now. It was late, and the unearthly faint glow about his vision from using his third eye was beginning to slide from ‘intriguing to look at’ into ‘a headache on the horizon’ from overuse. Focusing was too difficult- he could not watch any longer. Lurien made a final mark on the slate he was using to sketch the city and leaned back away from the telescope, letting out a breathy sigh at the ache in his back. It had been a long day, starting off with a visit to the White Palace, and he had thrown himself into his work to try to distract himself afterwards. To focus on his work, not the...the heresy burning low in his belly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(The last time they had met, the King had pressed one of his many hands over his, and his grasp had been cool and tight and for a moment he had wished to turn his palm up so that their fingers might interlock and twine together, his claws scratching against the back of his hand-)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(What would those cool palms feel like, trailing their way down his sides?)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heat in his abdomen throbbed at the thought. He tightened his plates, desperately trying to wish it away, but it did not work. It was better than the yawning ache in his chest that plagued the bad days, but only on a temporal level. In actuality, he knew, it was probably much worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Did the King know? Did he know how tempting he was? It was sacrilege to see him as such, Lurien figured, but he could not help himself- he had spent many long years in his presence, both alone and in his parliament. He was one of his most trusted advisors, for his dedication and his gift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So it was only natural that after some time with him, his allure would shift- from a distant, untouchable force of nature to a living being, alien and unusual but alive, present. A friend, of sorts, though Lurien was always aware of his standing, always willing to honour him as he deserved. It was only natural that he began to notice certain aspects of his body and mind that began to...appeal to Lurien's base nature. Once a bug grew used to the strange way he walked, half a slither, they noticed the ripple of muscle under chitin plates, the elegance in his fine, precise movements. Once a bug grew accustomed to the stark white of his shell, they began to admire the nuances in light that reflected off of him, the way he made the world more vibrant, more beautiful. They began to appreciate the elegant tilt of his head, the strange flicking membrane over his eyes, the rumble of his voice, the elegance of his speech. They began to seek the rare hints of warmth in his tone, to stand close to him and talk until the lumaflies began to rest, to lean into him and feel the gentle press of his fangs against their neck-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lurien stood abruptly, knocking a pile of papers askew, and glanced at the door. No one would come through- he had told his assistant to retire a while ago, promising he would do the same, and he had locked everything up as usual. Still, he walked over and checked to ensure the lock was secure before picking up his bundle of slates, hurrying away to his private quarters. Their weight, often a pain, did not bother him now; the stairs to his private loft felt like nothing, the burning in his legs a welcome reprieve from the aching in his stomach. He deposited the slates at the edge of his nook as he nudged past the privacy curtains, panting from the short climb, and winced at the way they clattered against each other from his careless handling, the sound jarring in the small space. Still, he could not find it in him to straighten them into a more organized pile; he was focused more on hiding his shame than exacerbating it, and his shaking hands struggled to close the curtains around his bed, hiding him further.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he stood awkwardly by his bed, and stared blankly at the rain-washed window, searching for a means to subdue his desire, finding none...other than the obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fervently, feeling like a grub caught with their hand in the honey jar, he pulled off his cloak and mask, fumbling with the ties to his clothes. His hands shook; shame burned in his belly, but the heat trembling through his limbs was far worse, his clinging clothes suddenly too tight around him. He at least had the sense to gather some loose cleaning cloths from the table beside his bed- his butler knew of his bedroom, but Lurien preferred to clean it himself- before laying back naked in his nest. Soft sheets and cool air met bare shell, furthering his arousal, and he reached a hand down to palm himself, feeling his slit already hot, wet, and swollen, his heartbeat thundering wildly in his head as he slowly traced a fingerpad over the seam of his sheath.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did not mean to go this far. He did not mean to give in just yet, and sully his image of the Pale King with his animalistic desires. But many long visits to the palace had established in him a yearning he hadn’t thought possible before, and years of suppressed affection had accumulated into something not so easily ignored. Not for his alluring light did he crave his touch, or his power; those he had worshiped for many years without this sickness pulling at him, just the usual worshipful reverence. He was not snared by some spell, his mind was clear from his light. And the scant others he spoke to that were close to the King had never said anything about a hunger such as this, even among those who were not fond of mincing words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he craved something closer, something more. Companionship, on the nights where intense conversations fell to idle chatter, comfortable in a shared love of the arts. Humour, found in rare moments where the King’s mask slipped and he made wry comments that could almost be considered jokes, that usual tired burden lifting from his shoulders for just a moment. Affection, fondness, any little glimpse of the warmth that could be shared between them kindled into something more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hunger. Arousal. His dark eyes boring into his, his weight pressing him down, his teeth latching around his neck. Those cold hands sweeping over his body, sliding between his legs, the sweet ache of him pressing inside, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lurien </span>
  </em>
  <span>pressing inside, how cold he would be, how soft and wet-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unsheathing came easy, far too easy, the pressure in his slit reaching a peak before he gasped and let it go. For a moment after he released, he just watched himself unfurl into the cool air, the tip of his member twitching slightly with every beat of his heart; the head was already flushed purple, the soft ridges encircling it already flared, and they were sensitive and wet with slick as he wet his palm and slowly took himself in hand, rubbing against their soft bumps. Pleasure swept through him, a low, slow burn, and he closed all his eyes and took a moment to savor it, the conflict knotting his chest easing as the fire within him flickered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was a sacrilege, most likely. The King, he knew, was a married bug. But this could not hurt, surely, this slow relieving of tensions, in a quiet place where no one would ever know. He did not expect his feelings to be returned, or to ever gain any closure- surely, it was best to let off some steam now, so that he would not be haunted by them later, when it would be inappropriate to react in such a way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a slow breath in, and a slow breath out, suddenly realizing how short and fast his breathing had become. His chest ached, both from his longing and from the pain of knowing that his feelings would never be brought to light, but that was okay. His affection for his King stretched beyond these carnal, animalistic desires, and if his feelings were to bring him any harm, then he would rather cut his heart out with a nail and cast it into the floodwaters below than to cause distress. Especially when the King was so world-weary as of late, a sadness clinging to his frame that Lurien wished dearly that he could ease, through his affection or his devotion or both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...What would he give, if he could be with the Pale King? He stroked himself slowly, shivering, and tried to think of a moment alone with the King, on one of the evenings where he stayed late in the Watcher’s Tower. He would lean over to kiss him, this version of him in his mind’s eye, and the King would oblige, his fearsome fangs unfurling to gently interlock with his mandibles, sweet and soft. He would stroke the side of his mask, feeling that smooth, cool chitin under his fingerpads, and before long, the kisses would start to turn rough, the King’s fangs nipping instead of stroking. And he would enjoy it, would feel this same simmering heat under his carapace, until he took his King’s wrists in one hand (he was bold, this Lurien, more open about his desires) and tugged him along to his bed, where he would lay him down and kiss him deep and slide his robes off so that he could kiss down his throat, ever loyal, as soft and loving as he wished he could be-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A twinge in his stomach: not arousal, but guilt. Guilt, and that terrible, horrible longing, aching for a life that could not be. Maybe softness wasn’t the best bet for getting such urges out of his system.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He readjusted his positioning, restless in his bed. The soft fabric rubbed against his wingbuds, and a chill emanated from the thick glass of the window, but those two sensations merely reminded him of how sensitive he was right now, his body awake under his touch. The feeling was nearly overwhelming, and he almost wished that he could shake it off, to yield his mind to the touch of his King’s thoughts, as he did when his god wished to see the city through his eyes. He always focused on business when that happened, but he would love to give himself to him </span>
  <em>
    <span>now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>if only because he knew a bug who had lived centuries would have some manner of dealing with this hunger better than he did. The few awkward, fumbling encounters in dark corners with boys from his scholar day offered barely enough experience to teach him what to do, or to calm his primal desires. He couldn’t even remember anything clearly other than his nervousness and the feeling of a body pushing against his, of clumsy fingers fumbling near his slit in places too dark for anyone to see what they were doing. The Pale King certainly wouldn’t act such a way with him, and he was rather uninterested at the thought of such an encounter with him, when it was so much better to imagine him curled up in his bed beside him, the blue light of the city mingling wonderfully with his beautiful pale glow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thumbed the head of his dick, breath hitching with the tingling surge of pleasure, and tried to cast his thoughts about for something safer to climax to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Herrah had asked for a child, as a bargain for her sacrifice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was ridiculous to be so jealous. Such a thing was a business deal between royals-nothing more, nothing less. But he found himself turning the concept over and over in his head, the thought of an encounter like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> being his Dreamer request, until he was dizzy with the heat of it. The King had asked, and he had refused, claiming he desired nothing but to see his city safe, and while that was certainly the case...</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, </span>
  </em>
  <span>how lovely it would be, to have a night of intimacy with him before it became too late to seek anything more than what he had been given.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What would it be like? His mind conjured up a scene of being pressed into the bed by hands colder than his, but he found his imagination lacking, until he reached a hand up and circled it around his bare throat. He stroked a hand gently down the chitin plates, closing his eyes as he imagined hands cooler than his preforming the movement, and felt his prick twitch against his palm as he squeezed lightly, constricting his airflow ever so slightly. His king would not need to press any harder- he would not need to demand anything of him. He would stand by the bed, yes, that sharp, dissecting gleam in his eye, and he would reach over to press his hand against his throat and ask him to lie down, and Lurien would go gladly, and then he'd climb </span>
  <em>
    <span>up </span>
  </em>
  <span>into the shallow divot of the nest with that slithering alien grace and spread his legs apart and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gasped quietly into the endless drum of the rain, fingers briefly circling lower, before flicking his antennae with a quiet groan of exhaustion. The oil he had bought for...such private nights was brand new, the seal unbroken, and he did not feel like fumbling with the vial now that he had his own mess slicking up his hand. Nor did he want to deal with his own fluids on it afterwards, either, even when the haze of his arousal was making it hard to think clearly. The sticky sensation of precum was not something that he wanted to deal with after the guilt inevitably settled in.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So not that, then. Still, it was easy enough for him to turn on his front, spread his legs, and arch his back, putting himself on full display. He would be vulnerable, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>vulnerable, and his untouched cock would ache and throb in the cold air before the King brushed the back of his hand against its underside, like so, and let his cool, slick fingers trail up to his entrance, to circle and press at the soft, giving flesh. Devotion, shown though every movement, and the King would press him down into the sheets, his weight settling onto his back, and brush a kiss to his throat before taking him fully in hand, and Lurien would gasp out 'I am yours, always, always, </span>
  <em>
    <span>always”</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he’d whine at the sensation of his fingers pressing in, working him open with one hand while slowly stroking him with the other, catching him in a surging circle of pleasure while his other hands trailed down his back and stroked his sides, cold cold</span>
  <em>
    <span> cold</span>
  </em>
  <span> against the fire surging under his shell-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was not sure what happened then, the phantom sensations in his mind surging into something more real than he could say. Pale white light burst through his mind, stars against the endless span of the deep cosmos, and he felt as though his mind and his body had been split asunder, his thoughts floating somewhere far away from his physical form. Sensation heightened, almost to the point of pain, before settling into some nebulous cloud tugging between his thoughts and his feverish flesh, pulling at his mind until he was thrusting into the tight, wet ring of his hand, the distant, ragged sounds of his gasps and moans nearly swallowed by the rushing roar of the rain.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was at once too much and not enough. He cried out in a mix of ecstasy and frustration, hand working along his dick, and felt that same nebulous </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>settle deep into his mind, until his very body hummed with its presence, pleasure crackling through his whole body. His mind was a vessel, a cup filled to the brink of overflowing, and he arched his back and panted against the overwhelming feeling of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fullness, </span>
  </em>
  <span>of that wild alien</span>
  <em>
    <span> someone </span>
  </em>
  <span>pressing against all the soft parts of his thoughts, coiling serpentine loops through the racing primal </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>coursing through his veins.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yours-” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he choked out, because he recognized that presence, the foreign pressure of those thoughts. What shifted through his mind was not the god he knew in person, but he recognized the cold weight of Him, the taste of ozone and cold metal on the back of his tongue. He would recognize Him anywhere, for he- </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Always yours, always.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I love you.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Affection, crashing through him from a mind that wasn’t his own, distant and alien and possessive and </span>
  <em>
    <span>loving. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Streams of light, the white bursts condensing and coiling into something that left yawning rifts between the stars, darker than night. The water of his thoughts sloshed and churned, pushed right to the brink of overflowing, but never breaching the limits of his mind, and he closed his eyes to no avail and felt the cold burst of His breath against the back of his neck, the arching electricity of his pleasure. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>ached, </span>
  </em>
  <span>a yawning empty rift torn through the very core of him, and he felt a familiar wild hunger mirrored in the shifting expanse coiling through his thoughts, the mind of him and his god humming along the same frequency. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fervently, he stroked his dick to the beat of his heart, distantly aware of the wet, slick sounds under his needy moans, but he couldn’t find himself to care, not when he felt split between dreams and reality, not when he could barely tell if this was real or if it was fake, his own powers working against him. He both felt achingly empty and brimming overful at once, both wonderfully at peace and a chaotic, raging storm. He was close to the brink, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>close to finishing, and every sweet pulse crackled over his carapace like lightning but at the same time it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he thrummed with the desire to wrap his body around the great looping coils and to bring Him crashing down with him, their bodies intertwined in the most primal of ways, tangled together and inside of each other until he couldn’t tell what was his and what was </span>
  <em>
    <span>His</span>
  </em>
  <span>, their thoughts lost to their shared pleasure. How deeply he wished to give himself to Him, to give Him </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of him, his pounding heart and his trembling body and the limited chalice of his mind, barely big enough to hold the both of them, barely a spot against the spreading expanse of the cosmos and the endless reaches of the universe, and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fire surging through him reached a breaking point. He jolted his hips forward into the tight curl of his fist once, twice, crying out, and spent onto the sheets, his vision whiting out with every hot pulse against his hand. Somewhere, in the twisting open expanse of his mind, an echo resounded, alien pleasure arching through his throbbing dick, and wrung his orgasm out further, his limbs shaking with the aftershocks as he collapsed onto the bed, body numb, satiated and exhausted and mirroring an echo that resounded through the god coiling through his thoughts, before the stars faded into the familiar blue-purple glow of his bedroom, leaving him spent, satiated, and safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard a ringing settle somewhere between his ears, blanking out the sound of the rain; when he came back into his thoughts, it was to the rasping sound of his own breathing, the wet heat of his seed on his fingers, and the familiar sore ache of overstimulation pulsing through his prick as it slowly withdrew back into its sheath. He felt at once too big and too small for himself, detached and grounded, and he winced at the dueling sensations before rolling over onto his back, away from the wet patch, staring up at the dusty ceiling above.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Constellations from beyond his scope of the world stared back at him; they could not even begin to rival what he had just seen. He blinked up at them, thoughts moving slowly through the fog in his mind, before clarity tugged at him from somewhere beyond the fog wall, and he jolted awake with a gasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was that…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>....Had that been the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pale King?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Embarrassment flooded his chest, turning his face hot. That had felt like a mindmeld, albeit one skewed far, far out of his control; by gods and beasts and wyrms below, he’d practically been </span>
  <em>
    <span>worshiping </span>
  </em>
  <span>him with his...with his deprived acts, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>the King would come when he called, he was his </span>
  <em>
    <span>Watcher. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lurien had spent </span>
  <em>
    <span>years </span>
  </em>
  <span>learning how to drain his mind to call upon Him, to offer his prayers and his worship- his disgraceful, misplaced crush had merely established a link, one forged through many years of observing the King in all of his forms and...and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Loving him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He had told him that he loved him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He nearly slapped his hands to his face, before the thick, unpleasant slime of his...emissions reminded him of how bad of an idea that was. With a groan of misery, he heaved his exhausted body up on trembling limbs and reached for one of the dry cleaning cloths, dipping it in his washbasin before eying the wet spot on his sheets with a different kind of despair. It was lucky that he often slept with many layers- for having a bed tucked up against a window, no matter how thick or impenetrable the glass, was rather cold- but it would have to be stripped, and cleaned by the servants, which was an awkward event for all parties involved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps he could spill some jam on it later, to cover the scent and allow himself to retain some privacy. It would not be the first midnight snack he had in bed, anyways, and withstanding some polite scolding from Lucien was well worth the knowledge that the cleaning staff wouldn’t know of his...nighttime activities. Yes, it was a perfect plan, he thought, shivering, as he wiped himself clean with piercing-cold water. No one would ever have to know that the elusive Watcher of the City was a bug with carnal needs like all the rest of them, even if he knew that the servants likely wouldn’t really care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was a good distraction from the knowledge that the King now knew of his feelings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anxiety and nausea twisted in his throat, his heart thumping fast and hard, before he swallowed it down and stripped the wet layers with shaking hands. Perhaps it was not all bad; he did not know, after all, if the King was oblivious to his inclinations before this little...event. Nor did he even know if the King was </span>
  <em>
    <span>awake, </span>
  </em>
  <span>for that confrontation had been many times more intense than the previous mingling of their thoughts, when he had given his god his eyes and allowed him to see the world that he had made through his telescope. That had been marked with a careful distance, a regulated wall between them both; this had been a wild mingling of thoughts, each bleeding into the other, and the impression was less that of his careful, hesitant king, and more that of a wild storm, a force of nature so vast that he could barely begin to comprehend anything that had been offered to him. The stars and the universe beyond Hallownest could not possibly hold a candle to the strength in those great, blazing coils.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he had not known how to be properly devoted, he knew- if the Pale God had not wished to keep him safe- he would have been blinded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He pressed a hand to his throat, swallowed, felt the jump and the racing pulse there. No, he thought distantly, the Pale King had not needed to press him down to get him right where he wanted him.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And even if the presence had truly been the full weight of the Pale King’s emotions, given willingly...then that did not account for the surge of love he had felt in return. That overwhelming, blooming warmth had not been his. It had not been anything close to what he could imagine his feelings to be, but the message had bled through all the same- it had been love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He would not hope.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lurien piled the ruined fabric on the floor, the better to be jammed upon later, and pulled a soft cloak out from a pile of extra pillows at the foot of his bed. He wrapped it around himself, careful to keep his sensitive plating covered, and then reached out again for a blank slate and a length of wrapped chalk, wedged under a pillow propped where the windowsill met the wall. A draping of his blanket about his wingcovers proved to be an excellent guard against the chill, as he leaned back against the thick, solid glass and listened to the rain rushing over his head while he tapped the unwrapped chalk contemplatively against the bottom of his chin, uncaring of the marks it was sure to leave behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a letter to write. A rather important one, at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dearest King</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hope that this missive finds you in good health... </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Somewhere in the White Palace PK is staring down at his twin dicks and a complete mess of glowing cum on his stomach going 'shit shit shit' while WL smugly, sleepily says 'I told you so'. She's been trying to get her husband to bootycall his high priest for fuckin' centuries. She still can't believe that it took him busting a nut to finally realize it, but hey, she also had millennia to court him and millennia to become acclimated to his weird relationship with his own species's polygamy so she's just been waiting over here like 'u okay love' while watching then awkwardly dance around each other from afar. She's more than okay with this lmfaOOO</p><p>Also I made Lurien's butler be named Lucien bc the thought of it makes me giggle</p></blockquote></div></div>
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